


Let Me

by Flyting



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Fluff, Light Smut, M/M, One Shot, Prompt Fill, crowley's love language is acts of service
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-29
Updated: 2019-06-29
Packaged: 2020-05-29 14:35:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19402321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flyting/pseuds/Flyting
Summary: Even though Crowley would die before admitting it, over the years Aziraphale has noticed that the demon has a bit of a- well, a thing for taking care of people.One person, anyway.





	Let Me

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Позволь мне](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19461208) by [Furimmer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Furimmer/pseuds/Furimmer)



> Now translated into [Russian](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19461208) by the lovely [Furimmer.](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Furimmer)

Even though Crowley would die before admitting it, over the years Aziraphale has noticed that the demon has a bit of a- well, a _thing_ for taking care of people.  
  
One person, anyway.  
  
_Let me get the door. Let me take your coat. Let me tempt you to a bit of lunch. Let me help, let me in-_  
  
Let me.  
  
And Aziraphale does let him. How could he not? He waits and dithers so that Crowley can hurry- oh, not that he wants it to seem like he is hurrying- around to the other side of the car and open his door for him. He clears his throat and looks hopefully at Crowley when there is a book on one of the higher shelves out of his reach, even though there’s a ladder right there. He allows himself to be tempted and courted and taken to lunch, and makes the appropriate noises of protest before always, inevitably, giving in, when Crowley insists on getting the bill, even if he has only gotten a coffee while Aziraphale has had a full three-course meal.   
  
He does these things because they are friends, even if they’re on opposite sides in the whole bigger scheme of things, and he knows that Crowley doesn’t get many other opportunities to take care of someone.   
  
He has his plants, the poor terrified things, but it would rather spoil whole demonic image that Crowley tries so hard to wrap around himself if he were to go around being kind.   
  
Demons, as Crowley has reminded him on more than one occasion, are not nice. They aren’t affectionate, nor nurturing, nor caring, even though Crowley himself is all of these things, every last one however much he refuses to admit it. One of life’s little paradoxes.   
  
Why he has made Aziraphale his one exception- the one being he will allow himself to care for, albeit in careful moderation- the angel has no idea.  
  
(Except of course for the fact that he does, he does know, has always known. They both have things they don’t like to admit.)  
  
But Aziraphale can’t be blamed if he leans into it a little. Just to give his friend the chance to indulge himself in a way he otherwise can't.   
  
If he – for instance- shows up at Crowley’s flat sopping wet and chilled after getting caught in the rain on the way over- and he could have taken a cab, of course, but then Crowley wouldn’t get to fuss over him. Wouldn’t get to take his coat, drying it with a quick shake and a smell of brimstone, before insisting on wrapping Aziraphale up in a blanket, tucking it around his shoulders, and plying him with tea- _let me get you another cup, I can turn up the heat if you like-_ until he stopped shivering. His hands were warm and dry where they brushed against Aziraphale’s own around the mug-  
  
Alright, so maybe it isn’t entirely for Crowley’s sake that he does it, but Aziraphale stands by the statement that if not entirely, it is at least _mostly_ for Crowley. After all, that’s what friends are for, isn’t it?  
  
That said, there are limits to how much it is socially acceptable to dote on ones friends, especially when one is male, or at least male-shaped. There is only so much Aziraphale can allow and keep them both safely within the bounds of propriety. The bounds of what is proper in this century, anyway. Crowley, at least, has always fastidiously kept up with the times.   
  
There is only so much you can take care of a friend.  
  
A lover, on the other hand…  
  
That opened up a whole new world of possibilities.  
  
Like, _let me make you breakfast_ , murmured warm and full of invitation against his hair in the watery morning light.   
  
When he indulged himself in a hot bath in Crowley’s sinfully decadent bathroom, it was _lean back, let me wash your hair_. Crowley was lounging behind him, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, occasionally trailing a bare forearm through the steaming water, and Aziraphale cannot possibly refuse him when he asks so sweetly. When he wants to be _taken care of_ and loved and touched and treated sweetly as desperately as Crowley wants to do those things for him.   
  
And later, oh later- _let me, angel, please-_ and surely no one could blame him, when Crowley enjoys taking care of him so very much, for tangling his fingers in his lover’s hair and guiding him to exactly where he is aching. And Crowley, for his part, follows every breathless instruction like a divine edict. _Lower- just there-_ and, _just like that, with your tongue,_ and _don’t stop._ He takes such prodigiously good care of him.   
  
The next time Crowley begins with _let me-_ he doesn’t get to finish his sentence.  
  
_Always,_ Aziraphale says, silencing him with a kiss. _You silly thing._

**Author's Note:**

> Written for this prompt on the Good Omens prompt meme: https://onthedisc.dreamwidth.org/9084.html?thread=60540
> 
> ... and I guess Good Omens fic is a thing I write now? I just love these two idiots so much.


End file.
